After Paintings by Emily

We saw everything you could imagine and there were hundreds of them.
My question is: you slept alone last night. So for all this time
I've been Nixon and you've been yourself, sitting by the south window
where rain wooshes down from a cloud somewhere in the gathering
of  lightly tinseled trees, a blue disclosure clear against a lighter blue
wall, background to all of it. So much past you to stare in.
Its a pattern I almost bring up, saying “I did see something, we do relate
to the city struck through the deep river below the drift of snow
which obscures it. We blush like the little bits of red creeping everywhere
sighing backwards like a comet, I am loathe to drop these colors out,
lest there be deliberation. You draw the apple branch towards me.